


Temptation

by Dry_The_Rain



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alpha Dan, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angst, Beta Phil, Confusion, Drug Use, Eventual Phan, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gangs, Gender Issues, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Minor Character Death, Omega Phil, Omega Verse, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 08:45:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6045283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dry_The_Rain/pseuds/Dry_The_Rain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where Alpha's are strong, Omega's are beautiful and Beta's are workers what happens to those who don't fit in? Phil Lester and Dan Howell and two of these people: here are their stories.<br/>(Or where Dan and Phil fall in love, even when they know it's impossible.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Leaf In A Hurricane

It started at two thirty on a frosty day in 2002. The day began like any other, an alarm shrieking and instantly being slammed onto snooze by a very groggy and displeased teenager who proceeded to fall back asleep as though nothing had happened. Smiling distantly the boy slipped in and out of dreams, tossing and turning as the sunlight spilled from his open curtains and made his pale skin glow ethereally. After the third snooze the boy bolted awake, having blearily caught sight of the time: eight o’clock. Instantly he was a blur of fumbling fingers, clumsily flopping out of bed into a pile of pillows and crumpled duvet. He sprang up and tossed aside the covers, rubbing at his spine were it had cracked against his bedroom floor. “Fuuu-dge,” he said, wringing his hands and inhaling through his teeth, looking between the door and his wardrobe. Seemingly having made his decision he stormed downstairs, ripping past his older brother who was standing calmly eating a bowl of cereal whilst leaning on the kitchen counter.

“Martyn- MOVE!” he yelled, cracking the cupboard doors against the wall as he pulled them open, leaving his brother to step aside; for fear of his life. As the boy crashed a bowl onto the side and poured Shreddies into it, scattering them all over the floor, his brother turned slowly towards him chewing absently. “Alright there mate?” he said softly, reaching out to give a comforting tap to the boys arm. Before he touched him the boy yelled “Oh my _God_ Martyn. No time! Clear up for me…please…mum’s going to kill me!” As he charged back up the stairs.

“Okay Phil! But you owe me!” he yelled back, looking forlornly out at the bombsite that was left in the kitchen. As he wiped a cloth over the table top he noticed splatters of milk all up the cabinets. He looked up at the ceiling and distantly wandered how Phil even managed to get milk up there; it was almost impressive, if it wasn’t so irritating.

Phil slurped up the milk from his bowl and threw on a pair of socks- dinosaur and skeletons (it wasn’t like he had time to find a black pair, or even a matching pair for that matter.) As he choked on the disintegrating Shreddies in the bowl he slipped into his trousers and chucked on his shirt, putting his tie on without even doing the buttons up. He sprinted into the bathroom and shoved a toothbrush into his mouth, after a second he realised it was his brothers, but he had no time to swap them. He hoped Martyn had good dental hygiene. With one last hasty look in the mirror he leapt through the door and sprinted down the stairs.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

He could see his mum shaking her head disapprovingly at him from the mirror in the car; he couldn’t blame her. He looked down at himself, winced a little and smiled weakly up at her. She sighed despairingly, though Phil could see the smile playing at her mouth, and pulled her seatbelt on. “Phillip, sweetie, you do know there is this amazing thing called an…” she gave a dramatic pause before continuing, “ _alarm clock--_ revolutionary concept, but you know it could avoid situations like this.” He scowled and muttered a little “Sorry mum,” under his breath, which made Martyn giggle. “Ugh shut upppp! I set my alarm and everything…you all bully me,” Martyn smirked a little and said “well we wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such an idiot.”

The car pulled out of their driveway, scraping past the fence and disturbing a raven scavenging in their bins. They pulled onto the country lane, what little leaves left clinging to the trees were ripped from their place and pressed against the car windscreen. As they drove Phil saw a blur of red slink across the road, eyes glowing green in the car headlights, tail fluffed out in fear. He yelled at his mum and she pushed on the brakes; the fox froze in the centre of the road and looked over its shoulder. Giving a little yap he saw a larger shape flit from the hedgerow, a blob of flaming orange fur flew from the undergrowth. The mother ran up to her cub, who still standing frozen in the road and turned around, staring openly at the car- as if saying thank you. Another fox cub scampered across the road to join its mother. The family stood there for one last second, mother sniffing her cubs. It was rather beautiful witnessing a mother and cubs, together on a frozen midwinter morning, huffing out smoky breathes and padding elegantly across the tarmac. His mum heaved out a breath as they slunk into the trees, and started driving again saying “Gosh. Phil did you see? Isn’t that just amazing. Nature is so beautiful. Mother and her two boys- oh gosh.” She said, reaching back and squeezing Martyn’s arm. He squirmed and said “oowwww muuummm.” After a beat of silence he smiled fondly down at Phil and smoothed out his shirt, putting a piece of his hair back into place. “Mum you don’t actually know their gender…they could be girls…” he trailed off, and watched Phil pull on his shoes; his mum scoffed. “Believe me Martyn- I’m a mother- I know these things.”

Martyn’s face scrunched up and he sniffed the air, brow crinkled in thought, then he lent closer to Phil and sniffed again. “Mate- you smell weird. Did you get new deodorant?” Phil’s eyes widened and he hit his hand against his head involuntarily. “Shiiiiii-iink….I forgot deodorant.” Martyn nodded and lent back into his chair, prodding his brother lightly. “Ohhhh Philly- aren’t you going to have fun-- smelling like a rabid skunk all dayyyy. Like you don’t have enough to be bullied over already. Like your alien shaped head…or your “casual hands in pockets” that makes you look like you have velociraptor claws,” Phil crossed his arms and huffed, as Martyn gave his best impression of a raptor, clawing at his brothers sleeve. “Aw mate—lighten up, it’ll be okay!” Phil rolled his eyes and watched the countryside fly by. “I hope so.” He said.

                                                      --------------------------------------

As he ran through the office and exchanged a breathy grin with his brother he really regretted his life choices. Watching Martyn sprint across the corridors and subtly slow before walking into his classroom made him feel a little guilty, he hated getting Martyn in trouble- but also reminded him that he got all the crap genes. Where Martyn had hardly broken a sweat Phil was practically dripping with the stuff. As he flew through the corridors and up the stairs he felt the moisture damp his back, he really needed to take up a sport. He almost ran into the classroom door when he finally got there, as if its red paint wasn’t enough warning. When he tumbled into the room in a wave of sweatiness and sporting a puce red face he almost crumpled in on himself from embarrassment, but also from all the running. As he walked past the desks there was a lull in everyone’s conversation, he could see each boy dart forward in their seats a little, sniffing the air, as he passed. Only a few sat still; unbothered. By the time he fell into his seat and lent into his chair, he could see everyone’s eyes on him. As subtly as he could he tried to smell his armpits, but to himself he smelt like he always did, quickly he jerked his bag onto the table and hung his head in shame.

He could feel the sweat at the nape of his neck and distantly wandered whether this was healthy or if he had developed Chronic Sweating Syndrome overnight. He shifted a little and whispered a quick “hello,” to Cormac, who sat next to him, to try to break the tension. Cormac jumped a little, his leg bumping against the table as he did, knocking one of his pens onto the floor. He watched it roll across the table, not moving to pick it up and not flinching at all as it cracked against the carpet. “Hi, Phil- did you jump through a hedge to get to school this morning…or is this a fashion choice that I haven’t seen before?” As he spoke the rest of the class seems to relax and they broke into quiet chatter again, he took in a shaky breath and looked at where Cormac was pointing. His jumper was inside out. “Oh- no it’s all the range- God Mac- you’re _so_ unfashionable- aren’t you glad you have a friend like me for times like this, or you would really embarrass yourself.” he chuckled lightly, tension leaving his shoulders.

As he chatted aimlessly with Mac he noticed a few of the rugby boys eyeing him strangely, Hoodie, Batsey and Chippy were all staring him down, while the others seemed to be in a particularly intense argument. He heard a word or two here and there; Sam said “Mine,” which was met with a punch from Patrick, Jake snapped at them both and then all three turned and stared at him. Phil kept his head down, he did not want to get involved in whatever that was. It looked like Sam was going to get up and come over when the teacher finally came in, “Alright, settle down settle down- turn to page 156, no- James you can’t listen to music- you ask _every_ lesson and it’s the same answer _every_ time……” Shifting uneasily Phil opened the book but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched.

                                                         ------------------------------------------------

It was later when it really started to bother him. All those eyes, following him, as though he was in a clown suit or had sprouted a second head. The worst part was he could feel the sweat still at his neck and back, he felt sticky and hot, even though it was a winters day. As he placed his tray down on the table in the corner of the sixth form centre, he started to feel queasy. Looking down at the congealing shepherd’s pie and syrupy waffle his stomach turned and he almost wretched. The plastic seat dug into his back, chaffing at his shoulders and carving at his thighs. He sniffed in, stood suddenly and braced himself on the table, he could hardly breath and it felt like he was wearing a lead corset. Shakily he managed to fall back into the chair, though now he could feel the sweat pouring from his temple, running down his face in rivulets. He looked out of the window, and saw a few boys playing football, kicking at the icy ground and spraying a trail of icing sugar snow into the air. He saw a trail of smoke hang like a spider’s web across the powder blue sky from a jet. A boy kicked the ball too far and he saw it fly into the woodland next to the pitch. Birds fluttered up from the trees like charcoal embers from a fire on a windy day. It was in that moment of tranquillity, watching the world go on around him, cafeteria silenced by his lack of thoughts that he first felt it.

He felt a burning under his skin, like molten lava through his veins, it felt like he could explode if he got even a tiny bit warmer. All he wanted to do was rip his clothes off and jump into the snow drifts outside. He wanted to call out, scream for PJ to come back from his guitar lesson, scream for a nurse to come and help him; scream because he thought he was going to die. He pulled out his phone to call his brother, unsure of what else to do, and certain he needed medical attention.

People weren’t looking at him like something under their shoe anymore, it had shifted into something much, much worse. A group of greedy eyes fell onto him, just as he felt the sweat flood down his back, and the wetness in his boxers. He sat, statue still, frozen with wide eyes in total panic; phone clattering to the floor, forgotten. One of the boys-- Sam—licked his lips and growled, the sound rumbled across the room and flooded his mind until all Phil could think was “run.”

 Phil burst into motion, pushing over his chair behind him as he sprinted through a pair of doors, slamming them behind him. He glanced over his shoulder and instantly regretted it, he could see them easily vaulting the chair, sniffing the air and yelling to each other. As he pushed the other students in the corridor out of the way he could feel their eyes on him, their snarls and yowls were growing in numbers; more were joining him. Even as he desperately looked up the corridor he could see people sniffing the air and freezing in their tracks, books slipping from lockers and bags falling from shoulders as they stared. He could feel the sweat rolling off him, in sickly and petrified waves. His brain had short circuited and all he could think was “I am a Beta” accompanied by the mantra of “Run, Run, Run.”

Bursting through the first set of doors he came across he cracked against the hard ceramic of a sink. Looking in the mirror he could see his flushed face, sweat soaking through his shirt and eyes blown wide with-- lust. Before he could think logically he had punched the mirror, glass shards scattered across the floor and blood flecked the water in the sink, pooling and rippling, turning it pink. He gasped and clutched his hand and to his complete horror- began to cry. Briefly he saw himself again in the cracked mirror, distorted and broken, he had lost control. He could hear the whopping and thundering of the Alpha’s at the door, and slid himself into a cubicle, taking a shard of the mirror with him and slamming the bolt across the latch.

He heard the door swing open and for one hideous moment there was silence. Sickening, terrifying silence. There was the slow quiet rush of water from the tap, like a river it washed away the blood and the tears, calming and soothing but surreal. There was a little shuffle from the doorway, then a _thump_ , _thump,_ _thump_ of shoes hitting hard ground. He could see little ripples form under the cubicle door, from where the shoes had disturbed a puddle. The ripples ebbed and flowed like waves on a seashore. He heard a _creak_ and a _smack_ as the first cubicle door was swung open. He almost cried out, but quickly chocked it on his hand. There was another _thump_ , _creak smack_ , as the next door was opened- only this time louder than the first. He bit down so hard on his hand he could hardly feel the pain he was inflicting anymore, hardly taste the blood as the skin broke. This time he could see the shadow from underneath the door, he could see the black polished shoes and dove grey trousers standing in the water there; like huge cliff faces bursting from the ocean bellow. _Thump_ , _snap_ \-- silence. Before the boy could open the door Phil let out an involuntary snob. He clutched a bloody hand over his mouth, eyes widening, and shuffled into the very back of the cubicle, squeezing almost behind the toilet itself.

There was a yell of “He’s in there!” followed by the gleeful whoop of the others. He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, with the constant and unrelenting thumps of bodies hitting the door, watching the plastic bend and dent under their weight. The spasmodic flickering of the lightbulb over his head made him feel like he being examined in a lab. He was coated in liquid all over and felt sick to the bone, letting the bite of glass in his palm stop the lust building between his legs. Never had he felt so weak, so stupid, so alone, than that day, lying in his own bodily fluids, staring up at the swaying bulb above the cubicle top. Through blurred vision he saw arms grasping under the cubicle walls, heads poking over its top, someone smashed out the light bulb with a punch and he felt glass rain down onto his arms like snow. He felt relieved. He didn’t know how long he could have taken being stuck under that florescent light like a creature in a zoo.

 Seeing the strong limbs grabbing, trying to get one touch of him brought a stomach full of bile into his mouth, bitter and disgusting, he let it dribble onto the floor in a puddle. He could see it in their crazed eyes as they watched him buck and thrust into the hard ceramic toilet; their lust and their barking laughs—he was a game to them. He was shaking, eyes blurring, slipping in and out of consciousness when he saw the bolt start to crack and screech. Metal on metal; his blood ran cold in his veins, like ice, he sat frozen- even his sobs stopped. His head thumped against the ground and looking up at the dark pall of the ceiling, feeling the smooth metallic floor below him he thought that maybe he was already dead; a smile ripped across his face. And then it all went black.

                                      

 

 

                                                                   -----

 

 

He sprang upright, falling down straight away and clutching his head with his bandaged arm. He looked around and noticed the white walls and mint green covers; he was in hospital. Numbly he looked down at his hand, there was an IV drip and he could see at least 5 other mystery syringes poking out from beneath a piece of surgical tape. He picked at the sticky paper, feeling it get caught under his nails. The smell was overwhelming, he hated being in hospitals, it made him think of death.

Taking a shaky breath in, he lifted his head slowly and carried on through the nausea. He tilted his head to one side, then the other, feeling his neck snap and crack. He noticed his mum curled up in a ball on a small chair, she looked so much younger in sleep-- without the worry lines. He didn’t want to wake her. Letting his head hit the pillow once more he tried to piece together his memories, but he felt too sore to even begin. He looked up at the blank white ceiling- pristine and pale, cold and unforgiving.

It was two days later that he woke up again.

“Phil!” his mother was instantly by his side, tears in her eyes. Blurrily he tried to move onto his elbows, and he felt strong arms push him back. “Wha- what happened,” he choked out eventually, voice cracking from disuse. He almost wished he had been too drugged to notice the look of pain that flickered across both the doctor’s and his mother’s face. He looked down at her lap and noticed his childhood blanket, covered in bears, his mum was twisting it nervously between her fingers.

He could hear the trill of a coo-coo outside, it cut across the mechanical _beep beep beep_ of his heart monitor and covered the little cough his mum gave. She opened her mouth to speak, then whelmed up, before swallowing and beginning again. Phil waited patiently, hating the tears the fell down her cheeks. “Phil, it’s—it’s going to be okay. You have to know that. It is going to be fine.” She stopped for a second, brushing a tear from her face, before carrying on. “You just—you….Phil they hurt you. I—you have got to understand the doctors have done their best. Phil you—you are an…omega.”

 The words came out in a rush, followed by a cry from his mother, who dissolved into little hiccupping sobs. “I- know mum, I know. What…what did they do to me?” He asked quietly; his words didn’t seem to reach his mother. The doctor lent on his bedside table, and opened his mouth, he tried to say something then swallowed. Phil thought he was rather beautiful, sharp cheek bones and dusty grey eyes, he hated making pretty people sad—he hated making anyone sad for that matter.

After a second he breathed out, picked up his clip board and stood up straight. “Phil, the surgeons did all they could, you must know that. The boys that hurt you have been expelled, and will not be allowed into mixed schools anymore.” There was a pause that gave Phil time to count the tubes coming out of him. There were seven now, eight if you included the detachable one for measuring his heart rate. “There is no long term damage on your body…but…one of the boys. He force- he—force bonded you, and now it is. Very unlikely that you will be able to bond again…we have medication which could help…but its expirementa….”

Phil lay totally still; eyes half closed. He let the words wash over him, not bothering to understand. He could hear someone laughing, guffaws that carried into his private room for further down the corridor, and he could hear the branches tapping against his window, rustling in the wind, constantly overpowered by the _beep beep beep_ of his heart monitor. It was funny. Omegas were prizes. They were God’s gift. Yet he was useless. What was an Omega without an Alpha? Nothing. He was worse off than the Beta he thought he was, the Beta he could have been. The doctor’s shuffled around his bed, adjusting his drip, changing bandages, visitor’s came and went, and Phil lay there- silent and motionless. Slowly his identity fell out of reach, further and further by the day, until all that was left was a boy with startling blue eyes and chalky orange hair; nothing but empty thoughts and dead eyes. Omega’s lived for Alpha’s; and so, he was dead to the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that you enjoyed that, I promise it will get MUCH happier, just bare with me for the first chapters. The first few chapters will be prologues to the main work, I just want to explain Dan and Phil's stories, so you can understand why they act the way they do later on! Comments and Kudos would be very much appreciated, thanks :)


	2. The Fallen Angel

Dan woke to the sound of his alarm clock screeching on his bedside table. Long, drawn out sounds that sliced through his brain until the only thought he could form was “fuck.” He threw off his covers and slammed his hand against the clock, groaning as the frigid air in his room pulled goose-bumps up all over his skin. He stubbed his toe on his bedpost as he struggled out of his sheets and scrunched his face up in pain, hopping about his room he thumped against his walls, clutching his foot all the while. As he hit one wall he dislodged the Radiohead calendar hanging there; it floated gently to the floor. He looked down at the date, September the third, 2008; his first day of sixth form. As he pulled off his pyjama top he made awkward eye contact with his Totoro plushie. Those round wide unseeing holes, burning into his skin, too wide grin mocking him as chills scattered across his bare back. He threw a pillow at it. He saw it fall, eyes never leaving his own, rubbed his temples and wandered whether it was healthy to only get four hours sleep.

Stumbling into the sitting room he noticed his father splayed over the sofa, blanket stretched over his sleeping form, pungent smell of vodka hanging over the area. He must have been out late last night; he didn’t even flinch when Dan flicked his forehead. Dan smiled as he saw the skin ripple under his finger, adding another set of wrinkles to his brow that even sleep couldn’t smooth out. He made two cups of coffee. It took longer than normal because he couldn’t decide whether or not to spit in his father’s cup. After a minute he realised he wouldn’t notice a difference anyway, so he just put it on the table and slammed the front door behind himself, lock clicking into place—hoping it woke up the fat git.

He ran to the tube, crashing through puddles and spilling toast crumbs onto the pavement, he could see businessmen in sleek suits frown at him and chuckled as they gave him a wide berth. He almost ran straight into the stray cat that lived by his house. Its slinky black tail brushed against his hand as it sprang onto the wall beside him. “I’m sorry Mr Midnight! I don’t have any food today!” He swore he saw Mr Midnight frown and then give a put-out meow in Dan’s general direction. Pink sandpaper tongue visible alongside razor teeth; Dan dodged his claws as he tried to bat his arm. “I’m sorry! He yelled over his shoulder, twisting past a lamp post and nearly hitting someone’s car in the process. The sunlight was dazzling as he charged through everything, and so he was almost pleased to reach the dingy interior of the station.

He smelt the familiar stench of urine and saw an up-turned milkshake on the tiles. Sticky white mixture seeping into the cracks, filling them up. As usual, he found himself having a disagreement with the ticket reader while desperately trying to protect his mostly undrunk coffee from the commuters that bustled around him. He yanked his card out for the third time and rammed it back in growling insults at the machine as it let out a harsh beep and flashed red. He tried again repeating the words “come on come on come on” under his breath. It flashed red again, beeping obnoxiously. He heard annoyed scoffs and harrumphs from the commuters behind him and gritted his teeth. After jamming his card in another three times, and causing and awful traffic jam of people behind him it finally flashed green. “Thank God,” He muttered.

Sometimes he wandered why he was so awful at PE and yet pulled off Olympic Gymnastics to leap through tube doors as they began moving. As he sat down the conductor’s voice crackled out of the walls, “This service will be delayed by twenty minutes, due to maintenance work.” Dan looked between the stationary compartment and the winding stairs back up the city surface. It was just one of those days; he thought, as he opened up the doors and sprinted through them, charging out into the streets again.

                                                 ----------------------------------------------

He cringed a little, as he could see everyone was already in place, teacher—Mr Sharp, was standing at the front of the class, animatedly explaining what they would be studying in the A-level classes. He stood there for longer than he would have liked to admit, just looking through the window in the door at everyone: some doodling, a few in rapt attention of the teacher, and some who chatted amongst themselves.

He shifted a little, hitching his bag higher onto his shoulder and put his hand on the cold metal doorknob. He heard a click as he turned it and tried to stealthily open the door, without drawing attention to himself. It worked for precisely half a second before it snapped open with a nails-on-the-chalkboard whine. There was a moment of silence after it had fully opened before everyone turned around in their seats and simply stared at him.

He shuffled into the room a little further and began to slowly—ever so slowly—inching over to the first free seat he could see. Someone coughed and a pencil dropped with a thump into the floor.

He side stepped over someone’s bag, sticking to the shadows, blush creeping up his cheeks.

“Dan Howell…I assume? Nice of you to join us,” Dan smiled as submissively as he could and dipped his head, feeling the burn of everyone’s eyes on him. “I’m really—I, er…” he floundered and looked around himself desperately. For a second he made eye contact with a boy in the far corner; he gave a little nod.

“Mr Sharp? Can I talk to you for a second…in private?” The boy said. Mr Sharp and Dan both turned, the classes’ eyes also switching focus onto him. He sat in the back corner, blond hair in loose curls and green eyes twinkling—he was beautiful. Mr Sharp stepped forward and Dan took in a shaky breath, shuffling over to join the boy. “Um, alright James. I’ll be right outside the door, so keep the noise down everyone.”

Dan plonked his bag onto the table next to James’s and as he trailed away after the teacher. Left alone Dan took a moment to watch the class. Seeing female faces, and smelling Omega in the air; it was almost too much to handle. He looked across at the seat next to his, there was an open notebook there, with worn pages and scratched front. On a neat line was printed _JAMES G HEMMING,_ accompanied dots and lines in geometric patterns. As he looked closer he saw they were constellation’s, Arians Belts visible alongside the sun and on the opposite side of the book; the moon. He chewed the inside of his mouth and moved to open it, but before he could, the door swung open and Mr Sharp came up to him.

He placed his hand on the desk in front of Dan and looked at him right in the eyes; pity evident there. “Don’t be late again.” He said, before whirling around to the rest of the class, clasping his hands together with a clap. “Alright—English! So…” as he began Dan felt the words fade out into a background hum of sound. He turned and saw James studiously doodling in his notebook, Dan couldn’t see what he was drawing, but could see the pencil move and rubber pieces fleck off the edges of the page. He smiled at James, even though he wasn’t looking at him, and saw the briefest little smirk on his lips before he turned back to the teacher. “Thank you…” he muttered, the boy didn’t look up, just gave a little smile and nod—Dan knew this was the start of something. He just wasn’t quite sure what yet.

 

                                                   ----------------------------------

_3 weeks later: (The locker room Tudor Sixth Form)_

“Hey James! Wait!” Dan yelled, wheezing a little and coughing when he breathed in too quickly. James froze, books halfway into his locker, and his eyes grew wide like a deer in the headlights. Then he saw it was Dan and gave his widest grin. “Jamie—call me Jamie…uhhh what’s up?” Dan stepped forward, hands suddenly feeling clammy and breath a little short. He cleared his throat and said “Oh...okay…James...I—I was just wandering what you said to Mr Sharp? I know it’s been ages, it’s just been bugging me.” James laughed a little and shut his locker, pulling on his satchel. “I told him you were at the doctors because you were a “late bloomer” and still weren’t sure of your gender…I’m so sorry! I know you’re an Alpha, you’re just lanky as hell—and look a little like a tall lesbian…so I knew he would believe me. Mr Sharp’s really awkward about all that so I knew he wouldn’t look into it…” Dan frowned but before he could complain he felt a little grin spread over his cheeks.

“I mean I would say thank you…but you did just call me a tall lesbian.” Jamie bit his lip and his cheeks flushed, curls falling over his forehead. “You’re a very pretty lesbian. If that’s any consolation.” He gave a cheeky wink and Dan swooned. “Hey, um James…my friend Chris...is having a party on Friday…will you come?” He twisted his bag strap around his fingers nervously and ran a hand through his hair. James smiled as brightly as the sun itself, hair in a golden halo around his angel-face. “Of course! What’s the address?” Dan started and felt an involuntary grin spread over his face. “Five rose avenue, be there at eight!” He said in a rush, James smiled a little and turned around, walking up the corridor. Before he turned the corner he turned around and said “Wear your prettiest dress!” With a wink and a small wave. Dan gasped and made an insulted cough. “Oi! I’m manly shut up!” He heard a little chuckle carry through the empty corridor and sank back onto the lockers. He fist pumped and par-cored into the air, grinning to himself like a mad-man then letting himself sag to the floor. James Hemming was coming to a party with him. He couldn’t quite believe it. All he needed now, was a party to go to.

                                                             ------------------------------------

“Okay, Okay—I know Chris! I shouldn’t have…but he’s just so amazing, Chris! You haven’t seen him, don’t give me that look—oh my god.” Dan starfished onto Chris’s bed and looked at the other boy upside down on the bed. “I knew you shouldn’t have moved…yeah boarding school is a dank pool of Alpha stink, but you have to concentrate on your studies, “A-Levels are vital to your future”—you don’t need a beautiful Omega to distract you.” Chris said in mock horror, continuing with, “Just kidding, mate, you know you’ve found The One when they call you are tall lesbian.” Dan frowned and flicked Chris on the forehead. “Hey—I refuse to take advice from you Mr Single-all-his-life and you’re hardly a workaholic yourself.”

“Fine—Fine, no need to be bitchy…you two are obviously meant to be…but it’s Thursday—how am I meant to plan the perfect party, which will force him to fall head over heels for you, in one day! You’re cutting it really fine, mate. Luckily for you, you have the God Of Parties on your side.” Dan looked at him steadily, then flopped onto his front and said, “Chris, this isn’t going to be one of your schemes, is it? No, no, no…Chris I know that look—that’s your scheming look!” Chris gasped and held a hand to his heart. “Daniel! You wound me! Just—just trust me…it’ll be perfect”

Dan felt a burn of regret in his gut but after a second he drowned in adrenaline. “God I hope you’re right.” Chris rubbed his hands together and smiled like the Cheshire Cat. “You don’t understand how happy this makes me…you actually agreed to one of my plans—you won’t regret this Dan.” He crossed his legs and got out a sheet of paper and a pen, and Dan muttered “regretting it more and more by the second,” under his breath.

                                 ------------------------------------------------

_One day later: (Chris’s house)_

“CHRIS!” Dan snapped. James frowned and leaned closer to him, breath ghosting across the downy hairs at his hairline; Dan shivered. “I—er…thought this was a party…not complaining, just wandering if we got our wires crossed here.” Jamie stepped back and made a little chuckling noise. Dan counted thirteen ways of killing Chris without it being traced back to him. Jamie tilted his head one way, then the other. The room was bathed in golden light, shadows creeping in from the walls and fading into the soft glow. In the centre of the room was a mahogany table, Jamie looked at the chocolate surface, shifting in the light—glowing like the sun then deepening until it could rival the night sky. It reminded him of Dan’s eyes and he couldn’t help but to smile.

A boy with sweeping brown hair and electric hazel eyes slunk into the room. He was in a tuxedo, the dark fabric contrasted with his skin strikingly; though the effect was rather ruined by the fact it was at least two sizes too big. As he sheepishly shuffled over to them Jamie noticed a fake moustache stuck to his face, it had slipped and looked rather wonky on his upper lip; it suited him. The table was laid with a lace table cloth and a crystalline vase containing a single red rose stood proudly in its centre. Chris kept his distance and stood to attention, pulling out a notebook from his jacket and licking his fingers, posing a pen at the page. “Bonjour I shall be your waiter ce soir….Monsieur ‘owell eee—oh God I’m sorry about this what’s your surname…it’s not that Dan didn’t know—I’m sure he does…what with his giant crush on you…but like I probably wasn’t listening when he told me….I tend to block him out—he’s normally spouting crap about emo kids on Myspace I’ve never heard of…I know your first name if that’s any help?” Chris began in an awful French accent but it quickly deteriorated into a northern drawl. Jamie watched Dan blink and freeze, a little smile on his lips; eyes darkening. “I’m going to kill him.” He heard Dan whisper calmly with a hollow and barking laugh.

Jamie felt him lurch forward and reached out to him, stopping him from punching his friend. “Hi—Chris right? Yeah I guessed so…It’s Hemming,” Chris raised his brows and grinned and he felt Dan deflate and relax into his chest. “Ahhhh ‘emming yyy ‘owell- Bueno….wait…uhhh…bon?” Dan locked his jaw and said evenly “Chris what they fuck is this. You gave up French in year seven and this was your plan?”

“Errr sorry—‘owell, je ne hablo pas English—je…speak…French.” He said slowly, and added “What will you be ‘aving tonight, gentlemen, I recommend zee Ribena et microwavable pudding…” he trailed off and looked up at them expectantly. When neither of them responded he slammed the notebook shut and said “ahhh, I’ll take that awed silence as agreement; c’est uno bon choice!” He tried to take Dan’s coat and was met with a growl. Jamie offered his up and Chris smiled at him, muttering “merci,” under his breath and sticking his tongue out at Dan. Chris stepped back in front of them and Dan said “Chris. Can I please talk to you for a moment? In private,” his voice was saccharine sweet and smile tense and fake.

Jamie watched them from across the room, it began in whisper shouts from Dan followed by Chris rolling his eyes. They both turned and looked at him in unison and he shifted a little, scratching the back of his head. Dan then proceeded to rip off Chris’s moustache and Jamie saw the other boy gasp and look utterly aghast. “No, no no, not le moustache—argh le English—so annoyinggggg,” Jamie watched curiously as Dan pinned him again the wall and whispered something in his ear before he turned around and saying, “this is racist on so many levels Chris. Stop for the love God.” Jamie saw the colour physically drain from Chris’s face, and watched his Adams apple bob as he swallowed. Chris dusted off his tux from where Dan had grabbed it and muttered “sacred bleu” in a stage whisper. He smiled wanly at Jamie before shuffling out of the room. “I will leave you two love- birds in peace.” Jamie preferred his normal accent, the thick northern slur suited him.

Dan rushed over to the table and sat down. “I am _so_ sorry! He’s such an idiot sometimes…but I have to put up with him…he’s from my old school…I’ve known him since I was like five so he’s like a brother…a really insane and irritating brother.” Dan held his head in his hands and looked up at Jamie through his lashes, wincing a little. “Hey don’t worry, I have an older brother who loves showing me up…if you wanted to ask me out you didn’t have to go to all this trouble—not that I don’t appreciate it… just saying…” Dan watched as Jamie smiled warmly, eyes crinkling and light dappling his face, tawny shadows and honey-skin complementing each other. “God—I’m sorry…”

                                      --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It turned out that they had a lot in comman, the same bands, the same books, the same hobbies. It was strange. In fact, James almost forgot how ridiculous the situation was, sitting opposite Dan, it just felt natural. It was after this thought that there was a scream and Dan was on his feet, eyes blazing “Chris—oh my god,” he sprinted from the room and Jamie ran in his wake. Unsure of what to do he tried to keep up, seeing pictures on the walls, smiling family members encased in glass forever, Chris in a uniform, frowning from the arms of a woman with loose brown curls. He saw Dan rip into a room, slamming the door open and yelling out in fear. Stumbling on the carpet, mountains of fluff and valleys of dust; Jamie collided with Dan’s back.

He stood stationary for a second, face smushed into Dan’s T-shirt, feeling the folds of fabric imprint onto his face a little. Heaving in a breath and taking a step back he whispered “What’s happened!”

He looked out into the kitchen, expecting to see Chris had sliced his hand off or that the room had exploded into flames. He was met with a sheepish boy, hair flicked to cover his eyes, clutching at a crushed packet which was oozing chocolate sauce. He watched it drip in slow motion to the floor, gooey and sickly sweet. “Chris are you okay?” He said and rushed to his side, hugging his shoulder. Expecting tears he was met with a lilting giggle. “I squashed your pudding…I’m literally so sorry, I’ll make it up to you I promise…” Jamie watched as Dan sat down next to him and patted his knee. “Chris noone wanted the pudding anyway, no offense….what happened here?”

Jamie couldn’t stop the smile reaching his lips, it was inappropriate but seeing Dan, pouring off angry Alpha pheromones but still caring for his friends, it short circuited his higher thought process. “Ahhh...I…saw a…..um…spider.” There was another scream, similar to the one earlier and Dan was on his feet. Jamie saw him pale and yell again, “WHERE OH MY GOD CHRIS WHY NOT TELL ME THAT ORIGONALLY OH MY GOD WHY? YOU’RE THE WORST FRIEND!” Jamie felt his strong arms wrap around him from behind, grappling at his hands and clutching them in his own. He could feel little breathy gusts of air on his scalp and had to bite his lip to stop laughing. The two Alpha’s, yelling and squealing over a little spider. He rolled his eyes and said “It’s okay sweetie, Chris just—get up off the floor, okay?” He patted Dan’s head a few times, feeling silky locks in rough curls, and didn’t care if it was patronising, Dan was leaning into the strokes anyway.

It was at that moment that he saw a fat pair of legs poke out from behind the microwave. Its legs tapped onto the surface-top, the marble surface almost rippling. “Uuuuhhh—you guys might want to look away right now…” There was a little delay and then he saw the two leap out of the room in a flurry of limbs, yelping a little. He turned around and saw two heads poking around the doorframe, eyes wide and full of terror. “Go on Jamie—save us all, you are our only hope!” Chris shouted at him.

Sighing dramatically he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine—“Alpha’s are manly” my arse….don’t worry boys—leave it to the _Omega_ ” he muttered a little, giggling to himself at the sheer absurdity of it all. “Jamie you are an angel thanks babe!” He heard Chris yell as he reached for a mug, shaking his head a little.

                                                          ---------------------------------

Five minutes later Jamie sat on the doorstep to Chris’s house, holding an empty cup—it was Piglet and Whinnie The Poo, smiling together. The top was chipped and the sides scratched, it was clearly well-loved. He sucked in a breath of September air, cool light of the moon causing his cheeks to fleck with blood, air stinging his lungs as it rushed in. He watched the air puff out of his mouth—swirling like smoke, dancing and dipping on the wind then disappearing without a trace. He looked into the sky and saw Mars, a crimson dot high above—The Red Giant.

He remembered it clearly, walking along the Cliffside, sand whipped up by the wind, salt stinging his eyes and looking out into the sea, there was no horizon; there was only blue.

_Looking into the heavens, watching the wind pull the clouds across the sky in ribbons of mist. The moon was so big that night he thought if he wished hard enough he could reach up and touch it. He could see her now, eyes as blue as the world around them, suspended in reality like a painting. She smiled and reached down, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear. “Gabriel. You must remember we are small. Whatever happens to us the stars will always come out, and the moon will never lose its glow, even as it changes shape and size—it is still the moon.” He saw her smile like she used to, wild as the ocean bellow and full of all the warmth of a fire on a winters night, he reached out and held her hand—unsure of what to say._

_They crouched together at the edge, looking into blue upon blue upon blue. They let the wind tug at their hair, let it bite their cheeks and numb their fingertips; sitting there and just watching. She pointed up and exclaimed “there is Mars, and that is Andromeda…” he watched her speak, glowing in the low light. He could almost ignore her hollow cheeks and sunken eyes as she became reborn in her passion. “There are many stories of the moon loving the sun, loving him so dearly she could not bear to be away from him and chasing him across the sky. Though they could never meet it was said that they loved each other a great deal. Do not try to chase me like the moon chases the sun, there is no need, I will be as easy to reach then as I am now. Do not spend your life dwelling on the past, I will be gone, but you will always see me in the stars and I will be there with you. Just as the sun didn’t need to see the moon to tell her he loved her, I need not be here in person to tell you I love you—I will always be here with you Gabriel. Whatever happens remember that I love you and not even death can change that.”_

_\----------------_

He watched the spider he saved scuttle over the patio into the grass, hiding from the moonlight and turned up the skies again. Too blue, too bright; he let the memories wash over him. It was better than forgetting.

 

“Hey Jamie??”

“I’m sorry about the spider, this is the worst date ever….”

“I promise I can make it up to you!”

The sound cut through his thoughts and he jumped up pulling a hand over his face and turned around. Looking at Dan’s nervous frown and bloody bottom lip he felt a little warmth return to his heart, thawing it more by the minute. “I was going to try to lie…but this was honestly _the_ worst date I’ve ever been on…I appreciate Chris’s effort…learning that French accent must have been a pain in the neck...” there was a pause then he continued “next time we’re going to my house!” Dan shut the door behind him, the blinds rattled in their place a little and he sat down next to him. “Oh God yes please, I’m actually going to kill that lunatic. I promise I was planning a nice little party with friends and beers but I was an idiot and let Chris organise it…” Jamie chuckled and focused on his face, Dan embodied warmth, he reached out for his hand to see if he would get burnt. It felt heavy and strong in his own, he smiled, warmth sending chills up his spine. “Thank you for this, Dan, truly you are _the_ biggest idiot…but this was actually…a lot of fun…” he trailed off and before he realised it, they were kissing. Looking into those eyes as old as the forests and as new as a sapling struggling for life Jamie felt the first genuine smile in years creep over his face. Moonlight played over their hair as they smiled onto each other’s lips and let out little breathy laughs; lost to the world they relaxed into each other’s arms and just stared up at the shifting sky above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long, I just really want to do this idea justice so it has taken a while to write. Dan's backstory is going to be in two parts, I'm sorry if it's boring I just want to make sure that the characters are believable! If you have any suggestions or constructive critisims don't hesitate to comment about them. Kudos and comments of any kind are appreciated. Thank you for the support so far! ^_^


	3. Bitter Pill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text in italic is in the past, in this chapter that means earlier that night, other than the initial flashback. Enjoy!

June 28, 2006:

 

_“розовый ассасин.”_

_“Alexi, I don’t speak Russian…”_

_“I’m sorry Philly…I always forget. It means Pink Assassin. It is referring to how they got their money: pink diamonds in Russia. Worth three times as much as normal diamonds, so they can afford to pay off the authorities off. It also signifies they’re death pill.”_

_“They have a death pill?”_

_“Of course, Philip. It’s a pink pill, hence розовый. It starts a heat in Omegas, they use them for sex then cut their throats or sell them on to the highest bidder. Mostly they do it if you can’t afford the drugs anymore. Sometimes for fun.”_

_“oh.”_

_“You understand why Martyn works through me now? The R.A would rip you to shreds. Even Martyn would be hurt, and he’s an Alpha—I know how they work.”_

_“Alright. Thank you Alexi. Martyn…wouldn’t tell me where he was getting the drugs I…I had to know.”_

_“He’s a good brother. Just trying to protect you.”_

_Phil looked up at Alexi and nodded mutely._

_“Come Philly, don’t be sad. I will protect you too.”_

 

_\----------------------_

 

Four years later:

Converse soles cracked against the pavestones, a fine spray of dust sliced through his pale lashes, blinding him as he flew through the doorway. The neon sign flashed, highlighting his red hair in a spectrum of fluorescent colours, bathing his face in the cold glow. His legs burned and his lungs were on fire, images of being splayed on the floor, greedy hands and sickening laugher thick with humour, reeled through his mind. He pushed them down; he was different now, he had the suppressants. He smacked into lithe bodies rubbing against each other in the dim light, sloppy dancing and countless forgotten drinks on the tables.

 

 Flinging a look over his shoulder he saw him, calmly picking his way through the mass of electric bodies, dead eyes and a camera slung over his shoulder. Phil felt the panic in his throat as he slowed his pace, scared of attracting attention from the people there. The clubs deep thumping base split through his brain and he knocked into a girl. She looked up at him with a vacant frown and he mumbled apologies.

 

 Damp with sweat he slammed into the bar, harshly pushing down into the seat. He threw a fiver towards the tender and shoved a hand up to cover his face, hoping he was hidden in the dimly lit corner. The tender looked at him, brown eyes roaming over his shrouded face. “What can I get you?” he said, speaking with something so akin to empathy than Phil almost burst into tears. His voice cracked as he replied, “Shot of Vodka.”

 

The tender mutely nodded and ducked back behind the bar. Phil focused on his earring—a little black stud—as he lent down, letting the fear subside.

  -------------------------------------

Eight O’clock:

 

_He’d been at work for three hours already, losing interest he looked out of the shop front and saw it. A flash of white, so bright it almost blinded him. Looking hazily across the square he saw two people throw a penny into the fountain; Beta’s, it looked like a first date. The stream of droplets caught the sunshine and he assumed that that had caused the light. He turned back to the counter; checked the register and then the clock: 20:00. He tapped the countertop and blew out his cheeks._

_It only took a minute for the next flash to come. Cold and harsh, he stumbled a little- disorientated by its brightness. Looking out onto the square he saw the couple laughing together and then out of the corner of his eye a man. He held a camera in his hand, locking eyes with Phil he pressed the shutter and Phil cracked against the wall of his workstation._

  ----------------------------------------------

“There you go,” he said gently and Phil started. The tender tilted his head to the side and said “Rough day?” to Phil. He clasped the glass and looked warily up at the bartender, he had kind eyes, open and too innocent for a club like this. “You could say that.” He whispered, voice still shaky and pulled on his hoodie strings until his face was almost completely obscured and shoved his glasses further up his nose. The bartender lent on the table and his name label flashed, highlighted by the strobe lights: Dan. He tilted his head and opened his mouth, seemingly to ask Phil something but was called away and Phil was alone again.

 

Phil looked around the club for the man with the camera. His skin crawled as he turned back to his drink, thinking back through the day and wandering if it was already too late. He tried to remember if he had taken food off of anyone or even been in close proximity with someone he shouldn’t have been. He tried to remember so hard that he thought his skull might crack open from the strain; but there was nothing.

 

He fondled the empty suppressant packet in his pocket with his index finger, foil almost cutting the soft pad of his fingertip and jumped a little when he heard his voice again, smooth and soft. “You haven’t touched your drink. I don’t think there’s any way to screw up pure vodka but trust me…if there is…I’ve probably done it.” Phil smiled down at the table and looked up at Dan through his lashes. “No I’m sure it’s great, I just…” he trailed off and coughed a little. Dan smiled wistfully, “well it’s only my third day working here so…seriously if its gross just say…the boss will probably let me get you another…as long as it’s simple…I’ve not really mastered mixology yet not going to lie…” he ended his tangent with a smile and then a frown. “Look mate…you look a bit ill…are you okay?” Phil sucked in a quick breath, nodded and then proceeded to dry heave.

 -----------------------------------

Nine O’clock:

 

_The crack of the flash felt almost like a physical slap on the back of his neck. His shift had ended an hour ago and he thought he might go home, he could feel his stomach turning over and over and knew that something was very wrong. Martyn’s words spiralled through his mind, “be careful Phil, we can’t afford you getting into trouble over this—we’ve worked too hard to get you this far, you can’t ruin it now.”_

_Out on the street he felt it again, the spot of white in the corner of his vision. He walked quickly away, heading for the bus stop and pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Martyn. Pick up—I think I’m in trouble Martyn, I-I think they…I think I’ve been drugged Martyn. I’m scared. Call me back.” Trying to throw him off his scent Phil twisted around back streets and parks, moving past sleazy bars and boutiques plunged into darkness. “Martyn, I—I can’t seem to lose him and I’m deep in their territory—Martyn I need help…he’s got me on the run Martyn…we never…we never prepared for this. Call me back.” As he walked the street lights burned into life, the sun falling behind the sky scrapers and eventually the horizon itself. All the while he felt the gaze on him, always a few feet away._

 -----------------------------------------

In a second Dan was by his side, patting his back. “Well. I’ve never seen someone puke on just vodka fumes, but then again as I said…it is only my third day…” Phil weakly smiled up at him and stood upright again. “I’ll call you a cab. No ones that much of a lightweight…unless you’re actually twelve…I wouldn’t be surprised if they let twelve year olds in here…I know I should be selling this place more but to be honest it was my only option to work here…I kinda failed my last year of school so I’m doing like a billion retakes and I have to support myself somehow…not like my dad would do it,” he laughed emptily and trailed off, lifting Phil up after he dry heaved again. Phil looked up and him and realised he must only be nineteen.

 

He nodded absently and looked around---finally he was alone, no chemical flashes following him. He pulled off his hoodie and almost cried with relief. Dan gulped a little but didn’t comment on his sweat patches, nor the smell, and heaved him out across the dance floor. “I’m calling you a cab.” He said resolutely and Phil wheezed out a strangled “thank you.”

 ------------------------------------------

Ten o’clock:

 

_The footsteps followed him across the city. “Martyn just, call Alexi, he might be able to stop them! He knows they’re coming after us…you can’t just let me die Martyn. Call Alexi, get him to help me, clear my bank account I don’t care. Just get me out of this.” He could hardly see in the backstreets, the moon clouded over and dim, the houses only lit up but the sporadic lightning strike of camera flash. “Call me back.”_

_\---------------------------------_  

As Dan talked down the phone, crouching close to the pavement, Phil could suddenly smell him vividly…too vividly, pinewood, mint and lust: Alpha. He wandered when it had happened, when they had placed that bitter pink pill.

As he tried to piece together what he had eaten throughout the day his vision blurred. He fell to the floor and cracked his head against the pavement. He saw hands reaching to pull him up and a flash of white cut across his vision.

 --------------------------

Eleven:

_“Martyn…are you okay? I—I’ll find a way to ditch him, okay, I’ll get to you, alright? Just phone me back. I think the pills starting to work. I’m scared Martyn. I can’t go through it again…fifteen year olds nearly killed me how do you think I’ll do when it’s the R.A—Martyn I’m infertile, when they realise that they’ll kill me! I need to get out of here before the pill works Martyn. You have to realise that I never knew they would come this early or I would have come with you. I’m sorry. Call me back.”_

_\---------------------------------_

He woke to strong arms pushing him into a car seat. It was Dan. Biting his lip he struggled for breath and muttered his address to the taxi driver. Dan pushed some notes through the car window and the taxi rumbled into action. Phil thought he heard Dan say something, but before he could process it the car had moved away and Dan had wandered back into the bar.

 ---------------------------

Midnight:

 

_He breathed a gasp of relief. Finally alone under the florescent lamps lining the avenue, he let the summer breeze lift his hair and flush his cheeks. He closed his eyes and looked up at the clouds, a milky film over the dull orange glow of the sky; he couldn’t see a single star through the smog._

_He knew that the R.A was slowly being disbanded now and knew that they had become desperate. The Omega’s they sold suppressants to no longer gave them an income with the government destroying the suppressants and killing those who produced it. Instead they turned to selling Omega’s into the slave trade for money. It had been happening for 3 years, slowly but surely as the drug supply ran dry, Phil just never thought it would happen to him._

_He thought back to the briefcase under his bed, packed full of black tablets; suppressants. His freedom, all held in the briefcase Alexi had passed on before he disappeared._

_He had seen this happen to so many people, tracked and given the pill. They would take them, if they were pretty and sell them on, kill them if they wouldn’t make good money. The Omega slave trade. And he was next._

_Just before he stood up again he noticed a photo pinned to the lamp post a few steps away. It was a Polaroid, still wet. His stomach fell to the floor as he lifted it up to the wind and shook it a few times. He saw a face fade onto the paper, strawberry blond and blue eyes, wide with fear. Slowly he turned it over and saw an annotation, “Smile for the camera little Omega, don’t you know your manners?” A little pink diamond was signed under the note, R.A. He choked; he was holding his death warrant._

 -------------------------------

He cried into the car seat. “Martyn. I—I got away. I don’t know how. I think…it must have been a warning. If they wanted me they would have taken me by now. I don’t see why they want me alive. Martyn I need to talk to you. I need you to help me, like you’ve always done, please Martyn. Call me back.”

 He smacked his head against the wall when he closed the door to his bedsit. In his room he sat down and pulled out the case, reaching for the packet, the little black tablet. Cursing gently he popped it out on to his hand. Shakily he brought it up to his lips and let tears fall openly as he swallowed. He didn’t know what to do; who to turn to. With Martyn and Alexi in hiding he had no one.

He lay on the floor and felt the rough carpet dig into his soaking back. He felt the drugs coursing in his veins, fighting for dominance, the pink trying to induce his heat and the black trying to smother it. His chest constricted and he spluttered in pain, eventually falling unconscious on the floor of his bedsit, the ceiling fan whirring evenly, accompanying his breaths.

 ----------------------                                   

 

 

 

 ----------------------

Three months later:

Phil’s hands looked like death itself, stained black and blue veins showing through the dye. He looked up at himself in the mirror—black hair pushed back off his face and in loose quiff. Smiling faintly he pulled his glasses off and placed them gently on the ceramic lip of the sink. The container sprang open with a satisfying pop. He put the contact lens on his forefinger, pulling back his eyelids. White surface with spider-lines of red across it. Fuzzy cornflower blue stared back at him as he slid the lenses onto his eyes and he grinned, face in focus. Drawing his fingertips over the light stubble on his chin he smiled, the compulsory makeover maybe wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

He flipped open the door and reached down for the shirt on his mattress, swapping out baggy blue jeans for a skinny black pair. He patted his back pocket, checking for his phone and wallet, and pulled out the suitcase from his wardrobe. Filled with a few clothes and his beloved lion toy, and the pills—clicking the door shut he breathed a heavy sigh. Finally saying goodbye to his home of three years. He didn’t look back once as he walked down the staircase and to the lift.

He pushed against the stiff revolving doors with a crack running through both planes of glass onto the streets. Without attracting too much attention he looked around, checking for anyone tracking him. For once he was glad that Martyn had made him keep where he lived secret from everyone; even Alexi. He felt vibrations across his thigh and pulled out his phone.

“Martyn!”

“Yeah hi Phil. You meeting him today?”

“Mmm hmm. I hope it goes well. This is…my dream apartment.”

“I know. I just can’t believe you’re doing this. He put an ad on craigslist Phil. He could be _anyone_. I know most of them have been locked up but—I still worry. You’re the only one left alive and…they hold grudges.”

“Martyn I’ve lasted three months there is no way they’re coming after me now, and this guy isn’t one of them. He’s just some nineteen year old boy, okay? I need to move on. I hear a storm hit Barcelona yesterday…you aren’t hurt are you?”

“I’m okay but…Alexi called.”

“What?!?”

“Yeah. He’s in prison…but he gave up some of the main R.A members so they let him out in two years rather than ten.”

“Thank God he’s alive. I was so worried.”

“They can’t find the source getting the diamonds for them though. Russia’s huge and they have important friends hiding them…I’m fucking worried…look…I’ll call you back Phil. You don’t need to think about this when you’re trying to make a good impression on someone who could be an axe wielding murderer.”

“Martyn. It’s over. It’s finally over, let me have this chance at a new life. I’m alive, you’re alive, so is Alexi…and they’re all in prison. I just….Need to move on. Phone me back at eleven?”

“As always.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye Phil.”           

\----------------------------------------

He stood outside the door and lifted his hand up to knock. It looked so perfect. Cream door with a tasteful welcome mat; certainly an upgrade from a one man bedsit in what felt like the pits of hell. He brought his hand down on the wood and heard a muffled shout. “I’m coming!” Phil frowned. He thought he recognised the voice, gentle and deep; he couldn’t place it. He heard scuffles from inside the apartment, a thump and muffled yelp and them footsteps approaching the door. He shifted between his feet and tried to lead with a charming grin, heart in his throat. The door swung open and he was met with a worried smile and soft chocolate eyes. “I—I’m sorry about that. I was working and totally lost track of the time.” Phil raked his eyes over the dishevelled brown hair, oppressively long legs and honey coloured cheeks. He smiled and said “Hi…Dan, is it?”

As the words left his lips he remembered, kind eyes and helping hands that night he almost died, the world seemed to slow to a halt and for a second he simply stared. Dan looked a little nonplussed and opened the door wider. “Well. Come in. You don’t need to stand on the doorstep of your own home.” Phil gulped, snapping back to reality. He thought about how strange fate could be, how one boy could have saved his life with a simple act of kindness and how now he had given him a new life, full of freedom and possibilities without even knowing his name. And with that thought in his mind, he stepped over the threshold, and into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about how disgustingly long it's been since I last updated, between exams and leaving school I haven't felt very inspired. Now it's summer I'll be updating a /lot/ more regularly. (I know...it's hard to trust me after I haven't updated for months...) I'm sorry for making Phil go through even more crap-- his life will improve a lot now he has Dan to help him along. Thank you for still reading, comment if there are any issues. ^-^


End file.
